


The Chase

by Vectorsigma3441



Series: Shattered Glass [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Sticky Sex, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vectorsigma3441/pseuds/Vectorsigma3441
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz and Ricochet play a game of cat and mouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chase

**Author's Note:**

> twincest, bloodplay, sticky, violence

"Oh, so sly," Ricochet rattled out in a dry hiss, stalking around the pile of crates where Jazz was perched on top, grinning down at his brother.

"If ya weren't such a slaggin' lug…" Jazz called back, his smooth and light tenor a pleasant difference to that of his brother's. It was soothing, calm; perhaps some could even call it beautiful. The sounds that voice made when in passion were enough to turn any mech's head.

In an effort to elude his twin, Jazz had flitted up to the top of those piles, ones that wouldn't budge for the most strong of mechs, and was now sitting and waving a hand tauntingly at his brother.

"I'm going to 'face you into the ground you little slut…" the red and white mech sent through the bond, grinning wider, displaying his sharp white denta. They were perfect for gnashing and biting harshly on sensitive dermal plating, and Jazz's lips were looking rather delicious.

"Suck my cord," Jazz called back down, swinging his legs off of a crate, being a bit too petulant with the whole thing. He knew that, and Ricochet knew that. But then Jazz wasn't exactly trying to evade his brother too much. The saboteur was faster, but Ricochet was stronger. Two things that didn't mix well where they were. An underground warehouse. There were only so many places to run, and Jazz was feeling the effects of his brother's arousal through the bond. An uncomfortable amount of lubricant was beginning to build in his valve, and he wiggled his hips, still grinning back down to his twin.

Ricochet jumped up on the first crate at the bottom of the pile but wasn't lithe or small enough to go up any further. He growled and then hissed, his orange visor staring into Jazz's blue one. "I willlll …. Then I'll bite it off and watch you writhe in pain…" the red and white mech said, playfully chattering his denta together. "So arousing when you do that… love watching you squirm underneath me…" he groaned out, as if the words were causing him pleasure, or perhaps from the memories of previous times he'd had Jazz underneath him.

"Very tactful, ya half wit," Jazz laughed, and spread his thighs, drawing one black colored digit down from his supple lips, over the smooth and silky metal on his chassis to rest on his plate, caressing in teasing circles. Ricochet's orange visor flickered a shade lighter to show his interest.

"Oooh, do ya like that?" Jazz called out, looking down on his brother, his own visor a darker blue in arousal. He continued to rub on his panel, becoming increasingly rougher, scratching the black paint right off of the lid. More lubricant was running down his valve but Jazz knew he wasn't ready, well, he was, but he wanted this to last, wanted to really feel it. "But I'm not going to let ya take me just lyin' there, I'm goin' ta put up a fight ya know…" he grinned. If anything, that was probably the best part to Jazz. It was fun trying to escape, fighting back, darting away, all of that.

"Wouldn't have it any other way. . ." Visibly licking his lips and running his glossa over his sharp denta, Ricochet latched his long talon-like claws into a crate and began to scale his way up, smiling madly.

This didn't startle Jazz in the least and the black and white mech roared with laughter. "Idiot, I'll kick ya right back off!" he called out, tauntingly, and drew his legs up, standing up to his full, but rather unimpressive height. Of course he looked bigger on top of the crates and it created a rather comical appearance for him.

The saboteur waited until his twin was in perfect distance to take a good swipe at and then hopped back down the opposite side of the crates, darting to and fro, laughing like a mech who was a few functions short of a full OS.

Ricochet let out a hiss, and pushed his frame backwards, using his powerful muscle cables to propel himself outwards, landing free of the pile of crates to slide across the floor on his pedes, digging into the floor with his sharp claws for traction, creating sparks from the friction. Then he darted forward, his strides long and loping, chasing after Jazz.

Squealing with glee, Jazz ran forward, jumping over obstacles with absurd ease, his blue visor flashing in the dim reddish colored glow of the lights. All too soon he realized his error. Ricochet was herding him into a corner, a section of the warehouse where there were no crates, no doors, nothing.

"Slagger!" Jazz hissed out, spinning on his heels, ready to bring his sharp and slim hands down right on his twin's plating. But Ricochet was the quicker one this time, and he collided with Jazz, knocking them both off of their pedes to slam into the wall.

Both of them grunted from the force, but Jazz got the worst of it, and also a pair of handprints on his shoulders. Cussing up a storm, Jazz flailed and kicked, but Ricochet straddled his waist and held both of the saboteur's hands in one of his own, and then punched the black and white mech across the face.

Gyros now spinning, Jazz could only lay there in a dazed state and choke on the mechblood welling up in his mouth. Ricochet punched hard. A hiss bubbled from his vocalizer a moment later when he felt his brother eagerly plundering his body with sharp claws, scraping furrows in the pristine black and white metal, making Jazz cry out in the mixture of pleasure-pain, and also burn with lust. It was fun, it was wild, it was exciting.

Trying to struggle, Jazz attempted to usurp his position by twisting his waist, but Ricochet only laughed and punched him across the face again, this time much harder. Groaning, Jazz stopped his movements and allowed his twin to spread his legs, the red and white mech's hand digging tightly into the metal of his hands, reaching the internals below as he grasped for them and firmly held on.

"Should make you take it like a femme," Ricochet hissed out, kneeling on his brother's legs while he furiously rubbed at his own panel, willing it to open faster, his claws scraping the paint right off, even trying to wedge his claws in the seams to pry it open.

But Jazz was a special ops agent, and also Ricochet's bondmate, he knew when the mech was at his weakest, and now was the time. He let loose with a heady moan, tossed his head back and arched his backstrut up several inches off of the floor, off-balancing his brother just enough. Swift as could be, Jazz slipped out a leg from under his brother and planted a pede in the mech's chassis, pushing him away and not really caring that it forcefully removed his brother's claws from his wrists, tearing the metal.

"You should take it like a femme," Jazz laughed out, not moving, but he flicked out an electrum blade from his subspace. It was always a desperate fight like this, at least until Ricochet could manage to thrust his fingers or cord into Jazz's valve. That usually settled the saboteur down well enough.

Ricochet had skidded back in an undignified heap, and he leaned forward, furious. "You just can't llllearn can you?" he growled out, orange visor flickering a shade darker, casting shadows on his sharp edged features. "I'll 'face you until you're bleeding and begging me to stop…" he said softly, voice an unpleasant grating noise. Then he lunged forward, landing on top of Jazz, and grabbed his twin's hands, struggling with the blade between them. Jazz pressed upwards and he pressed downwards, straining to touch the blade to his twin's metal plating, craving to touch it to the white chassis.

As it was, Ricochet was indeed stronger, and he had the advantage of his own weight plus his strength to use against Jazz. It was inevitable that he overpowered his twin and that sharp piece of metal pierced through Jazz's plating, mechblood welling up quickly right after. Ricochet kept pressing the blade downwards, heedless of the saboteur's angry and pained cries, and only stopped when he felt it touch his twin's protoform below.

Then he yanked it out with no measure of care at all, making Jazz shriek in pain, and tossed the blade off to the side, but made sure it was far enough away so that his foolish brother couldn't make a grab for it.

"Stupid Jazzzz…" he hissed, and then slapped the mech across the face with his palm. Ricochet dipped his head down and lapped up the mechblood that was flowing freely from the wound on his twin's shoulder, pinioning the black and white mech's hands so he couldn't move.

With those sharp denta so close to his sensitive internals, Jazz finally yielded and laid back, spreading his thighs and then allowing his panel to slide open. He knew all too well all the kinds of pain his brother could inflict on him – had inflicted on him.

"Goooood," Ricochet breathed when he heard that click and he let go of his brother's arms to ram two sharp tipped fingers into that wet heat, scratching lightly along the soft walls.

Jazz let out a surprised and pained yell, his frame bucking up violently as he bit down on his lip components to quell the rush of expletives that wanted to leave his vocalizer. Ricochet would never change his style of interfacing, most definitely not for the pleasure of anyone else. No wonder he didn't get nearly enough aft. . .

Ricochet's visor flickered, and a sneer took over his face. Apparently in his haste Jazz had forgotten to close the bond on that last little thought.

Jazz realized this a moment later and swore he could feel the violate crackling of energy around Ricochet and he bared his own denta, threatening the mech to not get any closer even though his brother's fingers were pumping steady in and out of his valve, the movements fast and rough, painful.

That kept Jazz occupied while Ricochet brought his hands back to his panel, caressing and pinching, exciting himself. Thoroughly aroused from the fight and Jazz's struggle, his panel lid popped open easily, and the tip of his cord could be seen from the top part of his interfacing array, slowly extending. "Aww, look who's coming out to greet you!" he said, and then laughed hysterically at his own joke.

The red and white mech dug his claws into his brother's throat, holding him still while he grasped his cord with his other hand, stroking himself until he was fully pressurized and erect. Taking his digits from Jazz's valve, Ricochet crudely wiped the lubricant over his cord, hissing at the feel that tingled across the surface.

The black and white saboteur didn't reply to his brother because he wasn't quite that foolish, but he spared his brother a scoff instead as the red and white mech played with himself for a few moments more. Then Jazz put the flat of his pedes on the floor and reached for his lower legs with his hands, spreading them further, giving Ricochet the most access and room possible. This also forced Jazz to arch his back off of the floor, his backstrut ramrod straight as he waited with some anticipation. It was an act of submission. For some reason the twin always liked to interface face-to-face.

"That's right, slut, you belong to me," Ricochet groaned, and he reached to Jazz's hips, sliding the mech closer, the two forms of metal screeching across the floor.

"Yes," was all Jazz said, and he bit the bottom of his lip component, thrills running through him from the cord that was prodding at the entrance to his valve. But Ricochet didn't move despite the excitement thrumming through himself as well.

"Yes!" Jazz said louder, "please! 'face me!" he called out, knowing his brother liked it when he begged so prettily. With a suggestive roll of his hips, he gasped as he felt the tip of Ricochet's cord press farther in, but he didn't dare try to go too far unless he wanted more of his brother's wrath.

For a few moments Ricochet stared at his twin, an unreadable expression on his face. Then, with a fierce snarl, he moved over his twin, both of his hands placed on either side of Jazz's head. The position was perfect and he snapped his hips forward roughly, quickly, and howled at the tight pressure around his cord. "For a slut, you're awfully tight!" he moaned, then snickered, his white denta flashing in the light.

Having arched into his brother with a wordless cry, Jazz couldn't find it in him to speak. Hardly ever did Jazz use his valve for pleasure, as he was much more a cord mech, but Ricochet was dominant and he liked it, so Jazz had no option but be forced to use it. Their relationship was almost purely nonconsensual, but really, as twins, Jazz felt that there was nothing to be done about it. Not just as twins, but as ignited and raised bondmates, forced to be that way forever.

Arched out in such a way, Jazz could so acutely feel the way that Ricochet was pressed into him and he moaned and reflexively clenched his valve around his brother's cord because of the imagery. Just because he didn't like Ricochet didn't mean that he had to hate this. There really was no choice.

With his aft in the air, Jazz pushed himself deeper onto that cord, loving the feel as it touched the walls of his valve so perfectly. They were quite literally made for each other, and Ricochet stretched him just right. Gripping tightly to his legs, Jazz kept his thighs spread as far as possible so he could display his subservience to Ricochet, his helm lolling gently to the side as he felt his brother begin to move.

With every sharp and uncontrolled thrust, Ricochet would grunt like some sort of primal thing, and Jazz would feel his backside scrap unpleasantly against the floor, back and forth, back and forth. But that cord touched him pleasantly, pleasurably, and Jazz moved with his brother, biting at his lips as he kept up his straining position, gasping every time he felt Ricochet slam back in him, just barely touching the back of his valve.

Wordlessly writhing, Jazz braced himself with his pedes with Ricochet moved in faster and harder circles. The mech leaned down and snapped his denta close to the lines on Jazz's neck as he thrust his cord in and out seamlessly, and he lowered his face to gnash at the wound on the saboteur's shoulder, greedily slurping at the energon that welled up, even rubbing his faceplates in it, smearing it everywhere.

Jazz only moaned in pleasure and pain and clenched his valve around Ricochet's cord, the feelings starting to create a searing pain through him, and even despite that, he felt pleasure, but he dared not reciprocate. Soon he was gasping and whining with every thrust, every time Ricochet's silky smooth and wet glossa lapped at his mechblood. They were interfacing in earnest now and Jazz was unable to hold his position any longer and let his hands fall from his legs so he could use the powerful muscle cables in his stomach to hold him upright, allowing his hands to grip to Ricochet's aft, driving him in harder.

Ricochet didn't mind, he was already on top, was taking Jazz's valve, so it didn't particularly matter. Excitement flared through him, the stimulation to the outside of his cord was delicious, especially with how utterly tight Jazz was. Not loose like those noble whores in his room. . . But those mechs up there lived a doomed fate anyways.

The red and white mech could feel Jazz tighten around him, putting even more strain of stimulation onto his cord and he moaned loudly, as he had been doing, but now he was doing it in all honesty as he drew closer to his overload, thrusting fast and hard, never letting up on the swift pace.

Jazz could only bite at his lips as he felt the pleasure snaking through his lines like poison, going to his ember, and then his cpu, sending him up to a high that wasn't chemically induced. "Yes," he groaned, his tone higher than normal, nearly like raw music, "Oh! Yes!" he whined, soft sounds of pleasure leaving him as he lost the ability to think, the pleasure cutting everything else down and making it insignificant. Warmth flooded him and he arched up violently, his legs giving sharp spasms as his face was drawn into a grimace as he reached climax.

A few more thrusts had Ricochet over the edge as well, Jazz's valve clenching so tightly around him that he thought that he wouldn't be able to move, and released his transmetal fluid in his twin's valve, moaning loudly and languorously, still giving sharp and jerky thrusts as he drew the overload out, his fingers buried into Jazz's hips.

After a few moments, both of heaving vents and the pinging of metal cooling, Jazz moved away from Ricochet, the mech's cord leaving his valve as he scrambled away, putting distance between them. This wasn't over by a long shot. Ricochet reached down and fingered his cord, half ready to go again, and then grinned, looking back up at Jazz.

"C'mere, don't be shy . . ." Ricochet murmured and lunged forward, lust in his optics.


End file.
